


It Takes a Village

by Griftings



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (of a sort), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Humor, Mpreg, Multi, Romantic Comedy, Unrepentant crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griftings/pseuds/Griftings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Percy chokes on his whiskey and gasps indelicately, eyes watering as it dribbles out of his nose. Vex grabs her own bottle from the cabinet and then sits on the floor, clutching it to her chest and staring up at the ceiling.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Scanlan places his hands on his hips and thinks to himself that considering he's the one who's actually pregnant, he's handling this way better than the rest of them.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"But you have a penis!" Vax yells, apparently still caught up on that. "Penises can't get pregnant!"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"No they can't," Scanlan says agreeably. "However, as previously stated, I'm a Gnome, and we're special."</i>
</p>
<p>Or, the romanticish comedy wherein everyone survives the Chroma Conclave, Pike knocks up Scanlan (who is in denial), Percy drinks (a lot), Keyleth attempts to convince everyone she can be responsible for children by adopting a watermelon (she fails), and among other things Vox Machina in general.... helps?</p>
<p>Alternately titled <b>The Gnome Mpreg Fic That Literally Nobody Asked For</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes a Village

**Author's Note:**

> a quick note: started writing this fic immediately after episode 41, before we knew whether or not vasselheim was hit by the dragons and before "i dont want to be alone tonight" became a thing. i've already decided that i'm not going to retcon anything i've written or anything that pertains to the story as i've planned it because that's too much damn work. sorry for any confusion this may cause.

So, this is how it begins:

After all the dragon bullshit ends and the Council is kind of piecemealed back together, and the dead are counted and buried, and the city holds a proper funeral for Uriel, and they're getting into the talks about starting to seriously rebuild, Pike starts getting a bit twitchy.

In quiet moments her eyes will glaze over and turn towards the North, to Vasselheim, and one hand will reach up and clasp at the symbol around her neck. When attention is brought to her, she always has a smile and a kind response, but when the others aren't looking her face shadows over with worry.

Scanlan knows this, because when it comes to Pike he's always looking.

Vasselheim, guarded and old as it may be, still took quite the beating when the Cinderking emerged, though admittedly not nearly as badly as Emon (which had been, in the words of Percy, "Well and truly fucked over."). Oftentimes Scanlan will find her sitting in the kitchen, reading and rereading the small handful of letters sent to her from the followers of Vasselheim's temple of Serenrae, her brow furrowed and lips drawn down.

Thankfully, only one of the disciples had perished during the attack, but the temple that they'd all worked so hard to rebuild had once again become demolished. Whenever he catches her pouring over the letters, Pike tries to put on a brave face, but it never quite works; Scanlan still hasn't heard from Kaylie, despite the months that have passed since the dragon attack. He feels like he can kind of relate.

Anyway, none of Vox Machina is surprised when Pike announces that she's travelling back to Vasselheim to take care of her people there. Scanlan, of course, offers the comfort of his bed the night before she leaves, because honestly by now it's just habit. She laughs, embarrassed, and demures, and Scanlan expects that to be that because typically that's par for the course for them.

He does not expect a knock on his door that night, nor does he expect to open it to see Pike with a bottle of wine and a nervous smile.

He doesn't expect it, but never let it be said that he doesn't welcome it. The bottle of wine is put to good use, of course.

And, well--

No one can claim that Scanlan doesn't kiss and tell, because he does; he kisses and tells, and tells loudly, and to anyone within earshot whether they want to hear about the kissing or not.

But Pike is different, and not just because he's convinced that _at least_ one of the other members of Vox Machina will brain him for bedding her. (Scanlan avoids Grog for a while.) So he keeps it to himself, and so does she, because he loves her and even more than that he respects her, and he stays quiet even though he wants to shout it from the rooftops that he and Pike finally banged six ways to Sunday.

"I love you," he tells her, as she boards the skyship that will take her to Vasselheim and away from him for an indeterminate amount of time.

She kind of smiles and dips her head in acknowledgement. "I know," she says, and then she's gone.

And that, as they say, is that.

(Until maybe a little over two months later when Scanlan is clutching the chamber pot in his bedroom and puking up what feels like every meal he's eaten in the last year. After he's finished up, panting like a race horse and wanting to die, he stares up at his ceiling, does the math in his head, and says, "Well, fuck.")

\-------

So Scanlan gives himself couple of weeks of straight-up denial before he decides that he should probably get a clear answer, and sneaks his way out of the Keep. (Though it's less sneaking and more running and yelling over his shoulder that he's leaving _right now later guys bye!_ before Grog decides that he wants to go too.)

The Cloudtop District was of course one of the first priorities for the initial stage of rebuilding, because that's where all of the rich shits live and sympathetic Council or not, rich shits still tend to rule the roost. From a moral standpoint, Scanlan still grew up poor, singing to support himself and his mother, and therefore he disagrees with this; from a practical standpoint, technically Scanlan is one of those rich shits now and Vox Machina had dropped a great majority of the money they'd had to have the Keep rebuilt as quickly as possible. So he probably doesn't have much of a leg to stand on there.

Either way, repairs to the other Districts have only just started becoming a thing; the streets of Abadar's Promenade, which used to be bustling and loud with the shouts of customers and shop owners alike, are now filled mostly by construction workers and carts of stonework. Ducking down an alleyway to take a shortcut, Scanlan sees a half-Orc carrying lumber over his shoulder hock a loogie unceremoniously onto the ground. He's disgusted and also impressed, and while he doesn't know who the fuck Abadar is or how the fuck he got a Promenade named after him, he has a feeling the guy wouldn't be too pleased about the current state of things.

Gilmore's Glorious Goods is, of course, the nicest looking shop on the block, which isn't at all a surprise considering how anal the man is about presentation.

Scanlan gives himself a moment to laugh at that.

Ha ha.

Gilmore.

Anal.

(Then he remembers his current predicament and stops laughing.)

When he walks through the open door of the shop, the smell of sandalwood incense is almost enough to make his gorge rise again, but he stomps that down with a mighty vengeance and tries not to think of the implications; after all, he doesn't exactly _know_ that he's.... whatever yet. Maybe he's just picked up a stomach bug. Gods know that his digestive system has never been very hardy, if the ill-timed gas he tends to develop when nervous is any sort of example.

That's probably it. He's just got the flu or something. Soon the rest of Vox Machina will be puking and shitting their brains out, too, and Scanlan can laugh when all the half-Elves have to take turns holding each other's hair back. Grog will probably get some in his beard. It'll be awesome, like a family adventure.

Scanlan is a firm believer in the idea that denial is healthy until proven otherwise.

There's only one customer in the shop, a Dwarf in dusty clothes who's surveying the shelves with a bored expression, likely a construction worker wasting time and waiting for his break to end, but Sherri is behind the counter and she lights up immediately upon seeing him. She bends down as he approaches, rests her chin on her hands in what would probably approximate to coy if she wasn't such a naturally stern person.

"Good morning, Scanlan," she says, as cheery as a person of her temperament can be, and he dips his head in greeting while desperately trying to hold in an anxious toot.

"As good as any," he agrees. "Is Gilmore in today? I've got a.... sensitive... issue that I could use his help on. Alone. Just me and him. Very sensitive."

Sherri tilts her head suspiciously. The toot escapes despite his best efforts. The Dwarf glances up and gives him what he can only assume is an approving nod.

"He's actually packing his things to go visit the shop in Westruun now that we've gotten this one back up on its feet, but he might be able to spare some time if I tell him that Vox Machina needed hel--"

At this, the beaded curtain (new, and in an obnoxious purple that Scanlan approves of) that separates the shop proper from the back room is brushed aside, and Gilmore steps eagerly into the room. "I heard Vox Machina needed me?" he says by way of greeting, eyes sweeping a good three feet over Scanlan's head, clearly expecting to find someone of the half-Elven variety. After a moment he blinks and looks down and the obvious effort he gives to not appear disappointed when he sees Scanlan is actually kind of impressive.

Scanlan would be offended, but frankly he is used to people being disappointed at him. He waves a bit and clenches against another toot.

"Scanlan!" Gilmore booms out as he strides forward and bends to shake Scanlan's hand rigorously, obviously having resigned himself to the fact that Vax isn't here to flirt outrageously with and clearly trying to make up for it by being as ostentatious as possible, which Scanlan appreciates. "Whatever can I help you with? Vox Machina is always welcome in my shop."

Scanlan, who is usually surrounded by people twice his size and is therefore accustomed to shouting up at them to be heard, answers with a smile and a wink, and then takes the welcome opportunity to whisper while Gilmore is still bent over, "I have something of a delicate matter that I need to discuss with you. In private."

Gilmore stills for a moment and his eyes narrow before he bursts back into movement, rising to his full, unfairly tall height and gesturing widely to the back room with one hand. With the other he ushers Scanlan forward. "Of course, of course. This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that scrying potion I whipped up for you once, would it?" He chuckles as the beaded curtain brushes past them. "No offense, my friend, but even the smell of incense couldn't cover up that stink." He pauses, twirls at his goatee thoughtfully. "If I could bottle a smell like that and sell it as a grenade..."

"Unfortunately," Scanlan interrupts before Gilmore gets any bright ideas about shoving a bottle up his ass to fart into, "that's fairly normal for me and has little to do with the scrying potion."

Gilmore nods slowly, a slight frown crossing his face, and he gestures to the chair in front of his writing desk as he himself takes a seat on the edge of his bed. Scanlan takes a moment to clamber up into it, forever cursing the damned length of human legs. "Tall enough when the gods spit it hits them," his mother used to say. Gilmore kindly pretends not to notice.

"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company then, Master Shorthalt?" he asks, leaning forward with his hands together. "Not any more business with dragons, I hope."

Truthfully right now Scanlan would rather deal with the Chroma Conclave again than the potential shitstorm that his one night stand with Pike may or may not have resulted in. He's never thought he'd see the day where he would pray for a dragon attack, but there you have it. "No, no," he says despite his best wishes, feet swinging nervously beneath the seat. "Nothing like that."

Gilmore cocks his head curiously (heh heh, cocks), but patiently waits for Scanlan to collect his thoughts.

"I was wondering if, perhaps, you may or may not possibly sell something to the effect of perchance telling if an individual --not me, specifically, of course-- was, maybe, somewhere along the lines of being in the general, if not direct, vicinity to something relating to, err, pregnant."

Gilmore blinks at him. Scanlan curses those beautiful luscious eyelashes.

"You... want a magical pregnancy test?"

Scanlan shrugs his shoulders and kicks his legs a little harder. After a moment, Gilmore's face cracks into a wide smile, and he throws back his head and laughs, actually going so far as to slap a meaty hand against his godsdamned knee.

"Finally convinced the lovely cleric of your charms, eh?" Chuckling mightily, Gilmore leads them back into the front of the store. Sherri looks up at them briefly but thankfully seems distracted by her ledger behind the counter, but the dusty Dwarf is still there scanning a wall of enchanted armor. Gilmore, seemingly oblivious to Scanlan's nervous twitching now that they're not in private, starts sifting through various bottles and ingredients that the Gnome isn't going to pretend he knows fuck-all about. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised, Master Shorthalt, you are a man of impressive charisma and endless charm."

The Dwarf glances over, looks Scanlan up and down, and scoffs under his breath. At the moment, Scanlan can't even be assed to defend himself.

After a minute or so of searching Gilmore pulls two or three different potions from various places and sets them on the counter with a little more wrist flair than Scanlan really thinks the situation calls for. "Mix these together and let it sit for two weeks, and if the lady's, ah, _elimination_ turns blue then you'll know to start stocking up on nappies."

Scanlan chokes on nothing (actually, it's probably his pride and masculinity that he's choking on) and sputters. "Two weeks?! You don't have anything more immedia-- wait, blue? What is it with your potions and turning things blue?"

Gilmore shrugs his broad shoulders and turns away with a flick of the wrist and a sniff. "If you bring her here in person, I can perform a magical check to essentially detect life within the womb, but without her..." And here he pauses and twists back to stare at Scanlan in confusion. "But wait. I had thought the lady Pike had returned to Vasselheim several months ago? Yes, actually, now I distinctly remember that she did, because I remember urging her to stay here instead of going back to that wretched place."

And now he's looking at Scanlan hard, one eyebrow raised, and swoops in a bit closer, looming over him. "And even if she weren't, as a cleric she'd be much better equip to detect life than I would be, why wouldn't she..."

And then he freezes and his eyes widen and Scanlan considers bolting.

See, the thing is, the whole Gnome... pregnancy thing? Yeah, the tall people don't typically understand. To them, it's "weird" and "unnatural", even though it's something that Scanlan's known about his whole life. He's tried explaining the Gnome version of the birds and the bees and nobody really gets it, though honestly that's an analogy that he's never really understood himself anyway, but in the Gnome version the birds are also bees and the bees are also birds and everything is confusing and feathery and... stinger-y..

Basically they're terrifying beebirds that nobody understands the function of except the beebirds themselves, which Scanlan has always thought is hilarious. Until now. And anyway, most Gnomes keep it to themselves. It's not strange to them; humans and Elves don't go around talking about how they have hearts and lungs and other perfectly normal innards that they have. Why should Gnomes?

So the thought that maybe Gilmore might think that Scanlan _himself_ could be.... whatever he might be had not even crossed his mind. It probably should have, because obviously the entire world is out to get him, which is only proven by the fact that Gilmore kneels down in a swift movement, purple robes snapping out behind him, and places a very dramatic and flamboyant hand glowing with arcane energy against Scanlan's midsection, in the middle of the store.

Scanlan yelps, Sherri jerks up from her ledger, and the Dwarf picks a bit of food from his beard. Surprise and a morbid curiosity keep him from moving. The intense look on Gilmore's normally jovial face probably contributes as well.

After almost a minute of just standing there while Gilmore makes glowy motions at his (impressive, awesome, amazing) abs, the man leans back with a heavy sigh and then stands up straight, pulling at his goatee in a way Scanlan would almost call nervous. Which actually isn't helping his own nerves that much, come to think of it.

"Well," Gilmore says gravely after another long moment. "Congratulations are in order, Master Shorthalt." He pauses again, tilts his head slightly. "Or condolences, perhaps?"

Scanlan takes a deep breath around the lump in his throat and the dark, sinking feeling in his chest. "So it's-- I'm--?"

"Indeed," Gilmore says, clasping his hands behind his back. Sherri's quill, which had been stuck between her lips as she'd looked through her ledger, falls out of her mouth and she let's out a surprised, "Fuck!" at the splatter of ink on the paper.

"Grats, mate," the Dwarf grunts from where he's still looking over the wall of armor, and then seems to wobble a bit from the effort of speaking. Scanlan thinks he might be slightly drunk, which doesn't bode well for the quality of the rebuilding of the district.

Scanlan nods, runs a hand through his hair, claps Gilmore on the knee, which is the highest he can reach without seeming like he's trying to have a grope, and then passes the fuck out.

\-------

"So, there's no simple way to say this," Scanlan says later that night when he's returned to Grayskull Keep, "but I'm pregnant." Then he pauses and thinks about it for a moment. "Actually, that was pretty simple."

It's a rare scene; the entirety of Vox Machina, sans Scanlan's baby-daddy Pike, is in the same room despite the fact that half of them normally disappear into their own quarters during down time. Currently, they're in the kitchen, Elaina having been ousted from her duties and shuffled off to bed with as much complaining as to seem polite about essentially being forced to get paid without doing work. Scanlan thinks she might have grabbed a couple bottles of wine on her way out.

Until a moment ago, Vex and Vax were playing an advanced version of darts by throwing daggers over the table and across the room into a crudely-drawn rendition of a mindflayer hanging on the wall ('CLARENCE' is written under it in Common, and instead of tentacles coming out of its face it just has a mess of dicks), Grog was drinking and supplying the twins with more targets (Scanlan can see a couple of shitty dragons and a Beholder among the drawings. Again, any appendage that can feasibly be replaced with a dick has been.), and Keyleth was chattering happily to Percy, who was tinkering with Ripley's gun and making appropriate humming noises every few seconds, the two of them occasionally ducking down to avoid a dagger to the face because Vex is still not the greatest at anything ranged that doesn't involve a bow.

Now, they're all staring at him in confusion. Grog, who up to this point has been concentrating intently and futilely on coloring inside the lines, accidentally lets a streak of red crayon stray outside of a dick, so it looks like one of Lord Briarwood's penis fingers is peeing blood. Oddly enough, it's an improvement.

A few moments pass before everyone returns to their previous activities. Scanlan, who's gone through the effort of pulling himself up to stand on the table for his announcement, feels a bit put out.

"Pregnant?" he continues fruitlessly. "Knocked up? Bun in the oven? Anybody care, yes, no?"

Grog throws a crayon at him like it might stick in him the way Vax's daggers stick into the wall. Scanlan lets it hit him in the chest because this is his life now.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Scanlan," Vex says, one eye closed and tongue half sticking out as she twirls a dagger in her hand and then chucks it into the drawing of Clarota on the far wall. With a metallic _shink_ sound it pulls itself out of the picture and whips back onto Vax's belt. "But if this is a ploy to make me give you more money from the treasury or something then it's not going to work."

(Scanlan may or may not have told a couple fibs in the past to try and get some pocket change out of Vex. So maybe there _isn't_ a sickness called coldus cockus that can only be cured by the warm touch of a lady of the night, but _what if there was, Vex, hmm?_ Then she'd have felt really shitty for not giving him any money.)

"It's really not, I'm actually pregnant," he says, twisting to the side to avoid a dagger thrown by Vax, who's apparently decided that the game up to this point has been to easy and has now blindfolded himself, and yet somehow it still manages to sink into Clarota's dickface.

The dagger whizzes past him as it returns to its master's belt. Scanlan decides it would be prudent at this point to climb down from the table, and does so.

"See now Scanlan," Grog says as he colors in a picture of a massive red dragon with wieners for horns labeled 'THORDICK, THE CINDERCOCK'. "I know you're lying, 'cause I know you's a boy. I've done seen your trouser schnauzer and everythin'."

There's a pause where Keyleth, Percy, and Vex all stop what they're doing and look up at Grog curiously, then over at Scanlan, then back over at Grog. "What?" he says defensively. "We go on pee breaks together when we're travellin'. 'S safety in numbers, yeah?" The other three think about it, seem to determine there's nothing wrong with that, and return to whatever it was they were doing before.

"Yes," Scanlan agrees, at something of a loss, "I do have one of those -and I assure you, it is awesome-, but I'm also a Gnome. We're special."

"I'll say," Percy mutters, eyebrows raising slightly. Keyleth snorts into her drink.

"I mean it you guys," Scanlan insists, actually getting a little upset now because this is sort of a big fucking deal and he could use a bit of support at the moment. "I'm seriously, honest-to-gods pregnant. This is a thing that is happening."

"Oh, have some ale, Scan," Grog says, pushing his tankard down the table towards Scanlan. Some of it sloshes out over the side and Percy makes a wounded goat noise when it splashes too close to his gun. "You're not you when you're thirsty."

Scanlan, who would really, really, _really_ like to drink right now but couldn't without feeling horrible, lets the tankard slide right past him and topple off of the table, landing with a clatter on the stone floor. Once again all conversation and motions stop, and Vox Machina looks at him in surprise. This time there's more interest though, more confusion. Vax lifts one side of his blindfold up to blink at him.

"Come off it," Vex says, but she sounds a bit perturbed now. Good, Scanlan thinks spitefully. "You're being ridiculous."

He turns and glares at Keyleth, who squeaks a little and stares at him with wide eyes. "You! You do the thing, the naturey glowy hand life detect-y thing, come here."

Keyleth blinks like an owl, glances at Percy (who shrugs), turns and glances at Vax (who shrugs), and then finally at Grog (who picks his nose) before hesitantly rising from her seat, hands pulled against her chest, and shuffles towards him. "I swear, Scanlan, if this is another trick to get me to touch your privates..."

When she gets close enough he grabs her hand and drags her down to his level, staring at her hard as he places it on his stomach. She twitches like a cornered rabbit, like she expects him to shove her hand down his pants, and then her eyes narrow as her hand begins to glow.

It feels different than when Gilmore did it-- the magical glow is green instead of purple, for one, and it feels more invasive as it twists into his body; but also more familiar, as Scanlan has had years to get used to Keyleth's magic falling over him to heal injuries. It's a feral magic, the way druidic magic is always, inherently wild, and his pulse picks up in response.

After a moment, far less time than it took for Gilmore to determine, Keyleth draws her hand back abruptly, eyes impossibly wide, and lifts her head up to stare at him.

"Holy fuck," she whispers.

"Been there, done that," he says, because despite it all he's still got his sense of humor.

"Holy _fuck_ ," she whispers again, backing up and bracing against the table. This time he doesn't say anything because if they both just keep repeating themselves the whole conversation will become redundant.

There's a loud ringing sound and then a whoosh of air as Vax drops his daggers and they obligingly zip back up to his belt. Percy keeps looking back and forth between the two of them like he's having trouble comprehending things, glasses perched at the tip of his nose. Grog looks like he's still trying to take in the fact that Scanlan let the ale spill on the floor.

"Bahamut's scaley ballsack," Keyleth continues, now edging away from Scanlan while using the table to keep herself upright, which he thinks might be a bit overkill. "Guys, he's-- he's got--"

"Pregnant, and a parasite, in that order," he confirms, which is when all the hells break loose.

"But you're a guy!" Vax shouts, running his hands through his hair and fucking up the blindfold even more to the point where he looks like he's got a crow's nest on his head. "That's actually really impossible!"

Keyleth is still backing away like she expects Scanlan to whip out his dick and start shooting infants out of it at her. Percy carefully and meticulously puts back together whatever components of Ripley's gun he'd been playing with, and then promptly rises from the table, walks to a cabinet, and pulls out a bottle of Kraghammer whiskey and starts to chug straight from the bottle (which, again, Scanlan feels might be overkill). Vex abandons her brother, who's still making startled noises and clutching his hair, to walk over to the gunslinger, take the bottle from his hands, and chug it herself. Percy seems a little put out until she hands it back, and then the two start trading it back and forth.

"You're pregnant," Keyleth whispers, though at this point the whisper is more of a horrified hiss. "How the fuck."

"I'm a Gnome," Scanlan tries again. "Like I said, we're special."

"How did-- but what--" Finally she points at him dramatically, finger aimed at his stomach, and screeches, " _Who!?_ "

"Well, remember right before Pike left..."

The hells break even looser.

Percy chokes on his whiskey and gasps indelicately, eyes watering as it dribbles out of his nose. Vex grabs her own bottle from the cabinet and then sits on the floor, clutching it to her chest and staring up at the ceiling.

Scanlan places his hands on his hips and thinks to himself that considering he's the one who's actually pregnant, he's handling this way better than the rest of them.

"But you have a penis!" Vax yells, apparently still caught up on that. "Penises can't get pregnant!"

"No they can't," Scanlan says agreeably. "However, as previously stated, I'm a Gnome, and we're special."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

Scanlan takes a deep breath and gestures around him to the collected party. "We live in a world filled with inexplicable magical bullshit, and this is what you get caught up on? That guy," and here he points a finger at Grog, who at this point still hasn't said anything, and is staring at Scanlan's crotch with a look of intense confusion, like someone's handed him a fifth corner piece to a square puzzle, "can only grow facial hair because of a _belt_. This guy," and the finger moves over to Percy who has slid down the wall to sit beside Vex and has started wheezing, but still seems determined to imbibe as much alcohol in as short amount of time as he possibly can, "had demon smoke blowing out of his asshole a couple months ago. Also, I'm not sure if you realized this? But Tiberius is a _dragon_. Okay? Tiberius is a dragon in a _dress_."

"Technically it's a robe," Vex says, a little dreamily like she's been shell shocked, before patting Percy on the back with one hand and lifting her bottle to drink heavily with the other.

Vax sends a helpless look to Keyleth, only to discover that she has crawled under the table like she needs cover and is just staring at them with only the top of her head visible.

"Pregnant," she says one last time, and it finally seems like a confirmation instead of just a screaming reaction.

"Yes," Scanlan agrees, finally retaking his seat and dropping his head into his hands, elbows on the table. Considering he's the only one of them who hasn't spent the last few minutes flipping the proverbial shit(minus Grog, who still hasn't moved, which is a bit worrying), he feels drained and tired. Despite the fact that he's not far enough along to really show or actually have any weight added to his person, his stomach feels... heavy. Weird. Wrong. He's not sure if it's the low-key dread he's been feeling for the last few weeks catching up with him, or just his brain projecting things, or maybe his nerves have gotten the better of him and he needs to take a shit.

Vax takes a seat as well, hair going a million different directions. Keyleth's head disappears fully under the table and Scanlan can hear muffled whimpering from beneath the wood. Percy, whose bottle is apparently finally empty, hiccups and tries to take a swig from Vex's, but his hands are slapped away unceremoniously.

There's a long, long minute of silence where they all take in the implications of what this means, for Scanlan and for the group as a whole.

"Wait, hold on," Grog says finally, "does this mean Pike's gotta dick?"

\-------

So the first thing that happens after everyone calms the fuck down is they make him write a letter to Pike. This is probably the part that he's been dreading most; Pike has spent the better part of their friendship rebuffing any and all advances Scanlan has put forward, and only in the last few months has he felt like he's made any real headway into getting her up to his level.

And wouldn't you know it, apparently Scanlan's as ripe as a fucking orange or something, because they screw once and he's got a bun in the oven.

Go him.

It's awkward and weird, because there's no good way to say "Hey how's life going rebuilding your temple, also blessings be to Serenrae because I'm fucking pregnant!"

In the end it's Percy who ends up dictating as diplomatic an announcement as possible while Scanlan scribbles it all down, which is concerning considering at this point Percy has ingested about a third of his weight in alcohol and is still more capable of coming up with something more succinct than Scanlan is stone cold sober.

Then he gets to spend a long, torturous hour trying to explain Gnome biology to an increasingly drunk Vox Machina, which could probably go on for longer but is cut short when Grog's had his eighth or ninth tankard and finally seems to understand the implications of the fact that Pike knocked Scanlan up and decides to go into a rage and chase Scanlan around the kitchen, frothing at the mouth.

The rest of the party is in absolutely no shape to help him, and in fact Keyleth has yet to come out from underneath the table. Vax looks more concerned about this than the fact that Grog seems to be trying to shake Scanlan unpregnant by the scruff of his jacket once he's caught him.

"Grog!" Scanlan shrieks (manfully, of course). "Grog, stop!"

Grog roars in his face, spittle flying everywhere. Over his shoulder, Scanlan can see Vex sloppily aim her empty whiskey bottle at them, pitch it in their direction, and then give Scanlan a shakey thumbs-up when it hits the wall a good three feet to the side. She then passes out. Percy bends, a bit unsteadily, to lift her hair out of her face to make sure she's still breathing. Scanlan can only assume that she is, because he gives them a thumbs-up as well.

"Grog," Scanlan tries again, digging his nails into the thick, tendony hand clenched around his throat. "Grog, you're _hurting_ me. You're hurting me, and I'm _pregnant_."

This seems to dissipate the rage, at least a little, because Grog stops shaking him and instead is just growling in his face. "Grog," he keeps going, patting the gray skin gently, "You're hurting _Pike's kid_. Yeah? Niece or nephew? Don't want to fuck them up too early, right?"

Grog blinks a couple times. From the table, Percy croaks, "It's never to early to fuck up a kid." A feminine hand inches out from beneath the table and pats his thigh comfortingly. Vax, seeing this, looks a little constipated.

They really need to look into getting that guy to a therapist.

(Which guy? Both guys.)

((Truthfully at this point probably all of the guys. And yes, Scanlan is including himself.))

With a slow, ponderous movement, Grog turns and lowers Scanlan onto the table, which is awesome because around this time and stress and the running has caught up with him and he feels like he might puke again. Which _sucks_ , because he feels like he's been doing that way too much lately.

"How in the--" Vax starts, and then stops. He blinks blearily a couple times and then burps, which really isn't helping Scanlan keep a lid on things. "Sorry, lost myself there for a second. How in the hells are we supposed to do our jobs if we've got a baby to take care of?"

There's a long moment of silence, then Percy snaps his fingers triumphantly (Vex wakes up with a snort and a "Wassat? Dragons?" and then drops her head back onto the table) and says, "Baby backpack. You strap it on your chest and just plop the babies in, pretty as you please. My mother had one made for her after my fifth sibling was born." He sways forward dangerously, and without looking Vex sort of reaches out and places her hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "My god, seven children," he says with a look of what can only be described as reverent horror. "That poor woman must have torn open like an old sock."

This is the straw that breaks the camels back, and Scanlan grabs Grog's abandoned tankard and vomits into it. There is a resounding chorus of groans, and Keyleth pokes her head out from beneath the table, asking, "What? What happened? Gods, is it twins? I don't think I can handle any more of thos-- oh he's just puking."

Nobody holds his hair back or anything and in fact it looks like Percy might join him in his regurgitation, but despite it all what really sticks with him in the end is that when questioning how to take care of a baby, Vax had said the word _we._

Well, that and the meat pie he'd had for dinner earlier. That sticks to him, too. Or to his front anyway.

\-------

("So," Percy says, hours later when Scanlan has retired to his room to sleep off his stomach ache, and Grog has disappeared off into the night to doubtlessly get into some sort of legal trouble that they will have to bail him out of in the morning, and Vax has left with a look of solemn perturbment and confusion.

"So," Vex replies, and runs her fingers through her hair to comb it out.

The two of them are still at the table in the kitchen, still side by side, and still staring morosely into their cups, though now they're drinking something decidedly a lot less alcoholic and are cursing the life decisions of the them of a couple of hours ago. Percy took his spectacles off some time ago, after they'd stopped helping his vision and actually seemed to be giving him vertigo.

He looks much more tired without them on, Vex notes. The dark circles under his eyes, which have always been prevalent against his pale skin, now stand out like bruises as he pinches the bridge of his nose and then blinks at her.

"What do you make of all of..." He gives a broad, vague gesture with the hand not wrapped around his cup of water, and then finally finishes lamely, "...this?"

Vex snorts softly. "'S mad, all of it. Yeah?" He nods, and she shrugs. "Yeah. 'S mad." She squints down into her drink, still feeling mighty hazy from all of the whiskey earlier, then props her elbow on the table and plops her chin into it, transferring that squint to Percy. "You think he's being honest or just having a go? I mean. Gnomes are weird, yeah. But that's a bit beyond weird for me. You think Keyleth's spelly shit could have gotten it wrong? How else could he prove it other than, you know. Time?"

Percy mirrors her, a bit of a smirk on his face. It's his mean one, that little dark genuine smile that he gets when he's not actually feeling particularly nice or happy. She's always liked it, for all that it usually ends up being a bit scary. "You suggesting he drop trou and point the Gnomey bits out to us?" He chuckles, takes a sip of his drink and makes a face like he was expecting it to be something stronger. "Because if so, I'll pass. I've seen more than enough out of that man without seeing his arse, too. Despite what he might tell you, Vex'ahlia," he says, voice deadly serious despite the mean little grin, "group nudity is not a healthy team building exercise."

She leans back, puts a theatrical hand on her chest with a gasp. "Truly? But during that fight with the Orcs back near Vasselheim, you and your pajamas..." She trails off and Percy blinks at her for a moment before groaning and pulling away entirely, burying his face in both his hands. "I'm just saying, Zahra and I talked about it afterwards and we both found the experience... inspiring." His shoulders are shaking now and she continues, a little bit giddy because even after the Briarwoods and the dragons, happy seems like a difficult thing for Percy to achieve, "I believe she described it as your 'pale full moon, jiggling against the snow.'"

"My god," he chuckles, the sound muffled behind his fingers. "She did have a thing for the moon, didn't she."

"Don't worry about it, darling," she says with a wink, because she's Vex. "It was lovely."

"Like you're so innocent," he huffs, peeking at her now, the pinched skin around his eyes belying the smile hidden in his hands. "When Grog was fighting that half-Orc and you decided to give your own inspiration?"

Vex pales and reaches out to swat him on reflex, and he takes it with a laugh. "You said you didn't see anything!"

"Don't worry about it, darling," he says, in that diplomatic voice that she's always thought seemed just a bit _too_ sincere, so much so that it must obviously be mockery. "It was lovely."

They sit and smile at each other for another few moments before Vex shakes her head and then drops it into her hands. "Scanlan's pregnant. Gods. What's the world coming to."

Percy scoffs, knocks back the rest of his water and starts making eyes at hers. She rolls her eyes and pushes it towards him. "Well," he says, tipping the glass to her gratefully as he raises it to his lips, "at least one of us was able to make it with their love interest, I suppose."

"Yeah," she murmurs, thinking about Vax and Keyleth and Vax and Gilmore and, oddly, Tiberius and Allura. "The sad doomed love lives of Vox Machina. What about you and Lillith, though?"

Percy says nothing for a long moment, just stares down at the table, and when he finally looks up at her his gaze is intense. Percy is usually intense, he is a very intense man, but this seems so much... more. Vex can feel her cheeks warm a bit. "What about you and me?" he says, and she gapes.

She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to think of an appropriate response to that, and finally decides on, "Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, are you _actually_ propositioning me mere hours after finding out that our _male_ party mate is _pregnant_?"

Percy seems to consider that for a moment before shrugging, a long delicate movement of his shoulders. "I may still be slightly inebriated."

"Percival, I am shocked and offended," she says, delighted. Placing both hands on the table she hefts herself up and takes a few steps away, that slight giddy feeling coming back. Percy watches her with an air of resigned amusement, making no movement to get up himself. "And," she says, raising a finger to prove her point as she walks backwards towards the door, miraculously not tripping over herself, "next time you do so, I would much prefer that alcohol not be involved, unless it's during and not before."

And with that she turns and leaves.

Percy stays at the table for a few more minutes, staring at the water with a smile at the corner of his mouth, before leaving the cup where it sits and heading to his own room.

Beneath the table, Keyleth lets out a snore.)

**Author's Note:**

> me: so now that im finally caught up on critical role i thought of a fic i want to write  
> my DM: What's that?  
> me: so do you remember this one episode where scanlan misspeaks and says something along the lines of him bearing pike's kids and then jokingly confirmed gnome mpreg  
> my DM: ...no...  
> me: well  
> me: im gonna write a fic where pike knocks up scanlan  
> my DM: ...I don't know how to react to this other than to say that I support you and your Gnome mpreg.  
> me: thats true friendship right there


End file.
